


I'll Tell You A Tale

by Irony_Rocks



Category: Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time (2010)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-02
Updated: 2010-08-02
Packaged: 2017-10-10 21:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/104704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irony_Rocks/pseuds/Irony_Rocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd undone it, but in that moment there was this sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach that told Dastan he could not undo fate, no matter what magic he'd seen in the Sands of Time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Tell You A Tale

* * *

That first day, the sudden transition from the ruthlessly hot and routinely chaotic desert to the clean, polished confines of the Alamut palace was not nearly as jarring to Dastan as it had been the first time. There was a thin dusting of sand coating his skin, sticking stubbornly, and a stench of sweat that hadn't been washed away yet, but Dastan had always been comfortable in his own skin – whatever way it smelled. An orphan never really outgrew his familiarity with poverty, no matter how richly he lived the rest of his life.

It wasn't the sweat or the heat or the smell that made Dastan uncomfortable; it was the blood on his armor.

Again, this wasn't a remarkable thing for Dastan, but this blood – it felt different. Wrong. Alamut had been violated and the offense had been committed at _his_ hands. It didn't matter that his uncle had forced the deed. Dastan should never have allowed it in the first place.

He'd always been the type of man that believed that there was no point in crying over mistakes, because what had happened had happened. The past could never be undone.

Dastan knew better now.

* * *

Tamina always trusted her instincts. They'd led her through a great many number of treacherous days in her life. She remembered vividly the days when she was ten and given the test of the Guardian, where she spent nearly half a week out near the Sands of Time, surviving for herself before the Priests of Alamut had confirmed that the Gods had found her worthy of being Guardian. No food, barely any water, and dangerous footpaths that could crumble beneath her tiny feet at any moment. She was just ten, but she survived – and then she had a purpose.

Instinct had led her through such days, long after her parents had perished and the Priests and the High Temple became her sanctuary. She became many things after that. Tamina was, as women often were, underestimated because of her beauty.

But when Dastan looked at her, there was a quality half-hidden in his eyes, a calculation or admiration, but it was almost mocking. The gaze felt piercing, all-knowing with a hint of amusement. He saw her, and that? Well, if she were completely honest with herself, that intimidated her a little. She wasn't used to men looking at her like that. With desire or reverence, yes, but Dastan… well, he looked at her in a way that she couldn't even describe. In a way that no man had ever looked at her before.

Instinct told her Dastan was different than most.

* * *

Dastan acted as untroubled as ever. He smiled disarmingly at the unfamiliar men and women that passed him by in the corridors. He joked with his soldiers and endured teasing from Tus and Garsiv over his sudden engagement. The Alamut servants had quickly taken to pampering him with all the luxuries that the city had to offer, and Dastan – well, he undertook all of that with the customary smirk on his face.

"A few days in the presence of the princess," Bis prodded, with affection and mockery that only a childhood friend could have. "And look at him, a fool with a smile on his face. I thought you were a more sensible man than one who falls for a beauty at first sight, Dastan."

Dastan rolled his eyes. "Big words coming from a man who can't hold a woman's interest at all, even if he had with all the jewels of the kingdom."

Garsiv came from behind, clamping a hand over Dastan's shoulders. "My dear brother, you'll find that in the end, a woman is only ever interested in one particular jewel of a man."

Bis laughed. "I've heard no complaints in that regard."

Dastan scrunched up his face in disgust. "That's because they've all been scared mute, Bis."

Laughter took up, and Dastan endured another few rounds of teasing as penance, they called it, for his good favor – winning a beauty like Tamina so easily. If only they knew the true ordeal he'd had to endure to get her hand in marriage – twice – he doubted many would have called it easy.

Tamina was many things, but easy? Dastan had to laugh.

* * *

She learned quickly that Dastan could be quite frustrating. At turns he could be charming or infuriating, and he seemed to relish in getting a rise out of her, sometimes arguing with her for no other apparent reason than to be contradictory.

Again, she wasn't used to that.

As a Gaurdian, there weren't many that had clashed horns with her. As a Princess, even those brave men had bowed before her. Her word was sacrosanct on many levels, but Dastan cared little for propriety or decorum. It surprised her at first that a Prince (even one from Persia, she thought wryly) could be so callous with these things. It wasn't until a full two days after meeting him, two days of engagement, that she even learned the true story of Dastan, Prince of Persia, born as a street rat and raised an orphan until the King took him into his arms.

All of Persia knew the tale, and the legend quickly spread through Alamut in the days following the aborted siege. The champion of Alamut was a child of the streets. Poignant and touching, Tamina had to admit.

But it just added a layer of mystery to a man she already had trouble labeling.

* * *

He knew she was beginning to suspect something. Probably had, from the start.

"You're staring at me again. You've done nothing but, Prince Dastan, since the moment we've met." She tipped her head aside, met his eyes, and he caught sight of the suspicion before she could cover it up. "There's something you're hiding," she teased with a lighthearted smile, one that might have fooled him if he didn't know her so well. "I can tell by the look in your eyes."

"Let me guess? Woman's intuition?"

"I told you when we first met, Prince, I don't take lightly to mockery."

"Who's mocking? I was just being… conversational."

"By avoiding the topic at hand?" Tamina rebuffed, as she turned towards him and stopped. "Look me in the eye, and tell me I'm being paranoid. You're hiding something, Dastan."

Dastan stepped forward to meet the challenge, putting a little less distance between them than Tamina expected, if the quick intake of her breath was anything to go by. This woman had no idea that he already knew how to read her. It was a bit like cheating, knowing all the things he knew and having her be the clueless one for once – but he figured turnabout was fair play.

"I," Dastan began, and he had to force his gaze on her eyes and not her lips, which looked quite tempting from this close, "am not hiding anything."

It took a second for Tamina's eyes to darken with knowledge. "You're not a very good liar."

_I haven't had the practice like you_, Dastan thought.

"Tell me, Dastan," Tamina asked him, "do you really think you'll be able to hide something from me, your future wife? I can be relentless when I want to be."

"Tell me something I don't know."

The suspicion in her eyes grew.

He shook his head, and decided to neatly avoid her confusion with flattery. He hadn't tried that tactic with her before, but maybe that would mean it would actually work? "I would be a fool to try and hide something from you."

Her eyes narrowed. "That isn't a denial."

Dastan scoffed a laugh.

She stepped away quickly. "Is this a challenge, Dastan? Because I've been known to be a bit stubborn when it comes to issues such as this."

"This?" Dastan repeated in feigned confusion. "And what is this an issue of?"

She remained silent for a beat, and he wondered if she thought herself clever or mysterious, and wondered a bit more about how annoyed she'd be, if she knew he was fully aware of the secret she was protecting.

"Don't worry, Prince. I have means of getting you to talk."

He smirked in anticipation, spreading his arms wide. "I look forward to any interrogation methods you have in mind."

* * *

The Dagger of Time was placed back into its honorable place of worship in the High Temple, but Tamina doubled the guards and visited there twice a day. It drew raised eyes from Persian men, but she played it off as the sacred duty of prayer after such a close call to calamity.

"The Gods must be thanked," she told Dastan, once. "The clash between our two peoples could have been far more devastating."

Dastan nodded, silent for a beat. "I'll accompany you," he offered, and Tamina froze. She didn't mean to, and a private voice inside her head admonished Tamina for that telltale slip. "What is it, Tamina?" Dastan tilted his head, at once curious and mocking. "Don't want me in your temple?"

Again, he had the beginning of a smug smirk, half-amused as if he knew several things she did not. It was rather infuriating on days she didn't find it just the tiniest bit attractive.

"Of course not, Dastan. You're more than welcome to join me, but I think you'll find the trip a bit boring. I've been known to spend hours praying."

"Don't you worry, Princess. I'll keep myself entertained somehow."

Tamina forced a smile, and then turned to lead him through the small passage that wove towards the High Temple. It wasn't that she didn't trust Dastan. He seemed, for all intents and purposes, a man of honor. But trusting him and entrusting him with the secret of the Dagger were two different things. She still wasn't sure when – and if – she would ever tell Dastan the complete truth about its origins and its value. Dastan was noble, no doubt. But he was Persian, after all. Warfare was in his blood, and the Dagger could never be used for such purposes. Already, once, Tamina had nearly failed in protecting the dagger from that.

Thank the Gods that Dastan had immediately returned the dagger to her. She didn't even want to think about what could have happened otherwise.

When they arrived, the room was empty save two servants that were washing the floors. They cleared out after a nod from Tamina, and she watched from behind as Dastan approached the altar. She wondered what he saw when he gazed up at the Dagger; she wondered if thought it a mere ornate weapon.

"You know," Dastan began, staring intently ahead, "it's strange that people that value peace and spirituality so much would prize a weapon above all other things."

Tamina considered her options. This man may have looked like a common Persian brute, all muscles and swagger, but looks were deceiving.

"What's the story behind it?" Dastan asked, turning to her.

"A story that would bore you, no doubt."

Dastan shook his head in exasperation. "There you go again. Normally you can't stop talking my ear off, but when I ask you anything about the dagger, you always sidestep the subject. Another man might find his intelligence being insulted."

She couldn't help the quip, she really couldn't. "I didn't know that Persian men prided themselves on intelligence."

He rolled his eyes, but then stepped closer, a man forever invading her space. Though he was her intended, a man that she was – reluctant though she was to admit it aloud – attracted to, Tamina had to wonder if she should step back. She'd been raised as a Guardian, a Princess, a woman that could be touched by no man. If and when she ever got married, Tamina had suffered no youthful delusions that it would be for any other reason than political alliance.

She had not counted on the man being anything like Dastan, though.

Somewhere up above, the Gods were laughing to themselves. Tamina was sure of it.

She knelt before the altar and quietly bowed her head, fully intending to complete the prayers she'd come here to say. But Dastan, of course, was much like a child with his need for constant attention. "I know I haven't gained your trust yet. I know you don't know me, but you'll find me a stubborn breed that way. I'll prove it to you."

She glanced over, curious. "Prove what?"

He knelt beside her, bringing them face-to-face. His eyes were so somber, dark with some emotion she could not identify. It was rather hypnotizing, and for a moment Tamina completely forgot her question.

"You can trust me, Tamina. I'll do everything in my power to protect you and this city… and those things you protect."

His words were like brandy, thick and heavy. It made her feel intoxicated, and Tamina found herself wondering. Was it true? Was it possible? He would be a good keeper for the Dagger, wouldn't he? Someone she could trust with its safety. A wise king, too, someone she could rely on. And, perhaps, a man she could truly love as a wife should a husband. Could this man betrothed to her really be everything she could have desired, and more?

For a moment, she allowed herself to believe in the foolish hope, and in that second Dastan reached forward and kissed her.

She had been kissed before, but not by many and certainly not like this. It felt impulsive, rash, to do this here in a place of worship – but dear Gods, it felt thrilling. He had a heady taste to him, overwhelming and warm. The kiss was dark and seductive but, surprisingly, _slow_. In all the reckless moments where she couldn't stop herself from wondering and thinking about what kissing him would be like, she'd always assumed that his kiss would be like his fights, clashing and aggressive. This, however, felt like a kiss of someone who knew her well, temperament and all. He cupped her face, and his callouses were rough against her cheek and yet his touch was so gentle.

He was, as always, a complete contradiction.

Tamina felt herself melting into him, but reality soon asserted itself when the noise of servants behind them disturbed the moment. They pulled back, and she exhaled heavily, captivated by the way he swallowed a breath, how the sunlight from the large open windows highlighted the strong line of his throat and the bob of his Adam's apple.

She paused for a beat, the moment somehow stealing her breath away. "Such a noble prince," she eventually teased in a soft voice.

Dastan smiled.

* * *

Dastan had a lot of opportunity to rest in the following weeks.

He _hated_ resting.

It always made him feel useless and, ironically, even more restless. It was made worse by the fact that there wasn't even much of a chance for him to spend time with Tamina, who was preoccupied with the duties of running a city. Dastan had offered his help, but many among the Alamut people still did not trust the Persians. Dastan couldn't really blame them. He knew it'd take time.

Still, with Tamina busy and his own brothers hatching plans to head back to Persia, Dastan was caught in a limbo. There were moments where a dozen things demanded his attention, and then he had nothing to do at all. In those spare moments, Dastan's thoughts always drifted to the Dagger. Though he tried not to let it show, it struck him hard, always, the weight of everything that had transpired.

On one such night, when he was alone for once, he'd settled heavily on the edge of his large bed and cradled his head in both hands, sliding fingers down until they intertwined at the base of his neck. He stared at the ground beneath his feet, thinking about the vagaries of fate until he felt dizzy with the implications. When he sat still like that, he could still hear Tamina screaming his name as she fell into that black oblivion. He thought he could hear his father crying, _why? Why, Dastan?_ with his last gasping breath. He saw the Hassansin's weapon strike out at Garsiv, and he saw Nizam kill Tus. Death, blood, and family – it was all some sort of hideous cycle. A long stretch of silence followed that made Dastan oblivious to anything else in the world.

He'd undone it, but in that moment there was this sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach that told Dastan he could not undo fate, no matter what magic he'd seen in the Sands of Time.

The door opened and Dastan snapped his head up. "Prince Dastan," a servant called. "Your brothers are waiting for you in the Great hall."

"Tell them I'll be there in a while," Dastan told him, in no rush.

"Your betrothed also wishes to speak to you," the servant added.

Dastan paused, suddenly feeling his spirits lift. _Betrothed._ He'd gotten used to that, rather quickly – a far cry from his initial reaction to the idea, back in that other timeline.

"Well," Dastan said, far more amiable than before. "We can't keep them waiting, can we? That'd be rude."

He let the servant lead him down the marbled corridor. The Persian Palace of his home was no less lustrous than this, but Dastan still had to appreciate the beauty of the Alamut halls, a different stroke and style, all in cream tones with flecks of gold.

He'd come a long, long way from the slums of the streets.

When he entered the Great Hall, Tamina was negotiating with Tus, and it was a battle of wills that he was, for once, glad to be a mere spectator to instead of a participant of.

"No," Tus denied. "You cannot expect a Prince of Persia to spend the majority of his year away from his kingdom."

"It is your father's kingdom and soon to be yours. Dastan," Tamina said, with a quick glance to acknowledge his presence, and her eyes softened, just a bit, before they regained their steel and locked back onto Tus, "will only ever remain a Prince in your kingdom."

Tus shook his head. "To be a Prince of Persia is no light matter. We need Dastan. He is an integral part of our army and an invaluable advisor to both my father and I—"

Dastan stepped forward, smugly. "It's nice to know my words are so well-received."

Tus threw him an exasperated look. "Though sometimes I do admit I long for the days of his silence."

Dastan clamped his mouth shut, arms crossed over his chest as his brother and his betrothed mashed out his entire existence, all without much of a glance in his direction. He felt like cattle being bartered for pieces of silver, and the sensation, unsurprisingly, was one he didn't like.

"As a Prince of Persia, he will remain a Prince," Tamina voiced evenly. "In Alamut, by marriage, he will be King."

Tus released a sigh, looking reluctant. "Persia is an expanding kingdom, with many territories and even more enemies. Dastan is one of the finest generals in our army, and as that he can mean the difference between the rise and fall of these lands as well as any king."

For a moment, Dastan was struck silent by how true those words were – and how no one but him would ever really know it.

Tamina looked cross, a familiar fire appearing in her eyes. "Persian men thinking they know best for everyone else, even those far outside its kingdom. Alamut is not a servant of Persia, but a sovereign city. If Dastan is to be King here, then Dastan must be _here_—"

"We can protect you," Tus offered as a promise. "I never said we wouldn't."

Tamina shook her head stubbornly, silently. She looked across the hall towards Dastan, and in her rich eyes, so vivid and brilliant, he saw her calculating measure – the same enticing look she'd first given him across this very same hall; one that had ensnared him from the start as much as he had tried to deny it. Dastan read her thoughts. The Dagger of Time needed constant protection. That much was only all too apparent. She couldn't trust a guard to protect it, as Dastan had readily dispatched the last guard entrusted with that particular responsibility.

Dastan needed to be here to protect the Dagger, and that would need to remain his number one priority.

"Brother," Dastan stepped forward, catching Tus' gaze. "A word, please?"

Tus rose and joined Dastan in the corner, huddled together in secluded conference. "You're going to have your hands full with that one," Tus said to him. "I think she might be more stubborn than all my wives put together, and that's just a terrifying thought."

"She's also right."

Tus looked up, shocked. "Excuse me?"

"She's right, Tus," Dastan said firmly. "You know better than anyone that a King's duty must always come first and foremost. He cannot waver in that."

Tus lowered his voice, vehemently. "You are a Prince of Persia. You belong there."

From his brother's perspective, Dastan could see how that title would always rule above anything else. In all the lands, Persia was seen as the rising tide, and Alamut, by comparison, must have seemed like a skipping stone. He looked fleetingly across the room to Tamina, who was seated by the open window. Beams of sunlight flowed in through the opening, bathing her in a glow that seemed almost ethereal. She locked gazes with him, and Dastan drew strength from her sight.

There were things here far more precious to Dastan than all the jewels of Persia, and the Dagger was only one of them.

"Tus, I have to do this," he said, almost imploring as he turned back to his brother. "Please understand, brother, I have to do this."

Tus was silent for a very long moment, and as much as Dastan tried to read his brother's face, he couldn't. It felt a bit like he was abandoning his family by admitting that, abandoning the only people that had ever cared enough to take him into their lives and off those streets. Would they see this as ingratitude? Abandoning the title of Prince to move on to greener pastures as a King? Dastan flushed with the implications, but he hoped that his brother knew him better than that.

There was lingering doubt, though.

"You will have Garsiv to help you with the army," Dastan continued, when the silence had stretched too long. "And I will always be here for you. You just have to call upon me. But there are times when a man must take on his own responsibility. I owe a duty now to Tamina and Alamut. I can't forsake that."

Tus stared at him, as if seeing Dastan for the first time. "Something's changed in you," he said in an odd knowing voice, in a tone Dastan couldn't yet recognize. "I don't know what triggered this, but ever since we've stepped foot in this city, I feel like you've become someone different. You've gained a strong voice, Dastan. It was not always so."

Dastan flashed a smile. "I like to think I always had a strong voice."

"A loud voice, yes," Tus said, wryly. "But a _strong_ voice? No, your strength was always physical. That's different now. I'm starting to wonder if there's something in the water here? It would explain so much."

"Funny," Dastan commented, wryly. "Your wit is a more dangerous thing than your sword, brother."

"Thank you."

"I didn't mean that in a good way."

Tus narrowed his eyes in faux annoyance. "I would make less comments like that, unless you desire being traded away to your beloved for a camel or two."

They shared a smile. As they turned away to walk back towards Tamina, Dastan felt his spirits lift a little. That could have gone far worse, but Tus had always proven himself wise; far wiser than Dastan could ever hope of mastering himself. His eyes drew to find Tamina studying him, rather intently. Normally, he wasn't opposed to being the singular focus of her attention, but this time her face held dawning comprehension, as if lightning had struck. When Tus walked over and eventually capitulated to her terms, Tamina's eyes immediately flew to Dastan and locked on.

* * *

He knew.

Dastan knew about the Dagger, Tamina was sure of it.

Every fiber of her being screamed it, her instincts, razor sharp though they were, had taken too long in realizing this. She bowed her head back down and took a moment to regroup, but instead of calming her, images flashed across her mind. Each and every moment she'd spent with him, since the very beginning, there was a double meaning in everything he said. Every look, every moment – it all suddenly coalesced into meaning.

After a moment, when she realized Prince Tus was waiting for her answer, she smiled and recovered her wits enough to quip, "I've heard stories about the Persians and their sense of valor. It's nice to know they weren't fables."

Tus smiled, and said something that nearly went right passed Tamina. She felt as if she had just woken up from a long slumber, but the wool before her eyes would no longer stand.

Tamina would get to the bottom of this.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, Garsiv didn't handle the news as well as Tus had.

"I know Tus and I have been teasing you about being so tied to her strings already," Garsiv said, pulling him into an abandoned hallway. He tossed a searching look around to make sure no one else was listening, and when he was satisfied, turned his full attention back to Dastan. "But I didn't realize there was so much truth to it. You can't let a woman, no matter what woman, dissuade you from your responsibilities to Persia."

Dastan sighed. "I'm not, Garsiv."

"You're blinded by her beauty."

This was already getting tiresome. Tus had always been the reasonable brother, the mature one. Dastan could talk to Tus, and he knew he would always be listened to, even if no agreements were ever achieved. But Garsiv, on the other hand, tended to talk more than listen. In moments like these, his words were often damning.

When Dastan failed to answer immediately, Garsiv advanced. "I'm right, aren't I? She has enthralled you. Look, I don't care if you think she is more beautiful than all the stars and moons, a gem of whatever other insipid poetic words you can imagine. She's manipulating you—"

"She hasn't manipulated me into anything," Dastan said, then warned, "And don't talk about her like that. You don't know her."

Garsiv rolled his eyes. "Neither do you! You've only known her for a few days. Don't be a fool."

Dastan made a move to brush past him, but Garsiv stepped in his way until he was forced to reply. "I _do_ know her."

"I wasn't talking in the Biblical sense, brother."

Dastan reacted so quickly, he wasn't even aware of it until he had his older brother pinned against the marbled wall. "Do not talk about her like that."

Garsiv barely blinked. He was well familiar with his anger, for Dastan's tendency to solve most of his disputes with violence is what made him so famous in the first place. Roughhousing between the two brothers was as normal as breathing between them, but there was something different about this confrontation. Garsiv's eyes darkened, and he forcefully broke Dastan's hold over him, shoving him aside.

"You've known her _days_!" Garsiv spat in aggravation. "You've done nothing but talk and walk and – whatever else has transpired between you two at night, I care not. But during this courting ritual, she's been on her best behavior. You don't know how she truly is, and God help you when you figure that out."

Dastan would have laughed at the falsity of those words, but nothing was particularly amusing about this conversation in the slightest. A firm mask of anger had settled over Garsiv's face, but there was something else within it that was far more dangerous to Dastan. It was the same sense of betrayal that Dastan had seen on his face when he'd thought that Dastan had been their father's murderer.

"Have you chosen this woman over your family?"

"What? No!" Dastan insisted. "I have responsibilities now that—"

Garsiv laughed. "Oh, please, Dastan. I know you. You engage in fighting matches, and you gamble and drink the nights away as much as any commoner. Your sense of responsibility is as developed as Tus' sense of fun."

"A man can mature," Dastan argued through clenched teeth. "You should try it sometime."

"As soon as you come down from this infatuation high," Garsiv countered. "Good lord, brother. I didn't take you as this much of a woman's fool."

Dastan felt fairly like he was beating his head against a wall, but that might actually be _more_ enjoyable. "I'm done with this conversation," he said, turning away.

"Don't walk away from me, Dastan!"

"Give me a reason not to!"

* * *

She found him sparring with Bis, blades clashing against blades, and she could tell immediately just by the level of force he was using that something had him upset. She watched as the two friends fought, exchanges a series of blows, all fast-paced and ferocious, and though Tamina had had some training in swordsmanship herself, she found herself utterly fascinated and overwhelmed by the display in front of her. She stood back in the shadows, eyes locked on Dastan, enraptured. Sweat-soaked and shirtless, muscles gleaming in the pale firelight, the smooth advances and swift parries. _The Lion of Persia_, some had called him. It was, in truth, an apt name for him.

Poor Bis looked like he could barely keep up and Tamina winced in sympathy when he suffered a particularly brutal blow.

"By the mercy of God," Bis muttered in exasperation, lying winded on the floor. "Are you trying to kill me?"

Dastan pushed back some sweaty strands of hair, and helped Bis up. "Sorry," he said, then quipped, "I guess I forget how strong I am at times."

Bis played the wounded, but it was proven a trick a second later when he suddenly attacked. Dastan sidestepped and ducked, bringing his arm up to brace against Bis' advance. Dastan fended him off with a hard shove that sent Bis back peddling several steps.

Dastan grinned, taunting, "You're going to have to do better than that if you want to catch me off guard."

"Good evening, Prince," Tamina offered softly from the back.

Dastan turned at her voice, and Bis took advantage of the moment. He leapt forward and swung out, catching Dastan off-balance with a hard blow that ended with the Prince on the floor.

"Princess," Bis greeted affectionately, grinning. "It's good to see you."

Tamina dutifully held in a knowing smile, but just barely. "Bis," she returned warmly. Dastan rose from the ground, glaring at her a little. Tamina looked briefly to him before she addressed Bis again. "Would you mind if I had a moment in private with Dastan?"

Bis held up his hands. "He's all yours, both in this moment and forever more." As he walked toward the door, he stopped briefly beside her and whispered in conspiracy, "But beware, he's in a foul mood."

"I heard that!" Dastan groused from the other end.

Bis made himself scarce.

"Enjoy the show?" Dastan asked, in a manner that made her wonder if, contrary to reality, he had known she'd been watching him very intently all along. It took a special type of ego for a man who had just been defeated before her eyes to sound that arrogant and pleased.

"Yes," Tamina offered with feigned flattery. "Bis is such a strapping young man. Quite skilled with a sword. I'll have to ask him for lessons."

Dastan rolled his eyes, turning away.

She'd learned long ago that between them, silence was forfeit in their little battle of words. She rather liked that she could so easily prompt jealously from him, even when he did his best to hide it, even when they both knew she was baiting him. She watched as Dastan gathered his fallen sword and began to place all the weaponry in their proper space on the wall. There was still tension in his shoulders, though. Bis was right. He was upset about something.

He grabbed a canteen of water and doused his head before turning back to her with false levity. "So, you have me in a moment of privacy. What shall you do with me now?"

"Tell me what's bothering you?"

"Bothering me? My spirits are as high as ever—"

"Dastan," she stopped him with a quiet word.

Dastan paused, staring at her with a look that was half caught between reluctance and misery. He expelled a harsh breath as he turned away, tossing the empty canteen to the furthest wall.

"It's Garsiv," he told her.

Ah. The pieces neatly shifted into place. She had the feeling that not much would ever keep Dastan down, save one thing: family. Though Tamina had no brothers to speak of, had no family at all, she'd learned quickly that the bonds between the three princes was one forged like few others. Dastan looked up to his brothers. It was not surprising that the reason for his foul mood tonight had to do with one of them, then.

"Let me guess, he was upset in your choice to stay here?"

"Upset is one word for it. I won't say the others because I do have _some_ manners not yet beaten out of me."

"Such a noble Prince," she teased, because that line always made Dastan smile for reasons she didn't quite understand. It had the intended effect, for when Dastan graced her with a smile, this time genuine, she gained courage to move forward. "Dastan," she asked carefully, "why _did_ you choose to stay?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

She stepped up to him. "Not as obvious to some as it would be to others."

"You're speaking in riddles, Tamina. You know I hate it when you do that. It always makes me think you're up to something."

Damn the man. How did he know her so well? It had been her intention to get the truth from him tonight, finally. If the matter required she use a bit of her feminine wiles, Tamina wasn't opposed to the idea.

She rested a hand on his forearm, whispering in a loving voice, "Why would you think that?"

"Experience," he volleyed back, even as they gravitated closer to each other. His eyes fell to her lips, murmuring mindlessly, "The last time you tried to seduce me, you tried to kill me."

His face tilted down towards her, descending to capture her lips, but Tamina halted, then jerked back in shock. "I – _what?!_ I've never tried to kill you, and I've certainly never tried to seduce you!"

He rolled his eyes. "Why do you make it seem like attempting to seduce me is more outrageous than attempting to kill me?"

"First of all, if I wanted to do _anything_ to you, Prince, there would be no attempt about it. I would do it. Now explain yourself! What do you mean by that statement?"

He tilted his head curiously. "You would do it? How, exactly, would you go about seducing me?"

"It'd be easier to explain how I would kill you."

"Yes, but my question is much more fun to wonder about."

She threw up her hands in exasperation, because oh, the man infuriated and frustrated her so! It was no wonder she never got any answers out of him. He always managed to turn every conversation into a sparring of words and innuendos, and she – the fool – had let herself be an unwitting accomplice.

No more. She needed to be brutally forthright now.

"Dastan," she said firmly. "Tell me what you know about the dagger."

* * *

... tbc.


End file.
